


Wrong place, wrong time

by Tashilover



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M, Rape, dub-con, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2012-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:25:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason why Douglas doesn't drink anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tonight should’ve never had happened.

 

Douglas has never been one for peer pressure, choosing to scoff at it with a certain air of disdain. So when Captain Jefferies kept offering him, _pressuring_ him to drink, Douglas should’ve turned him down. Make an excuse and leave the pub.

 

Simple. Easy.

 

But the problem was Douglas didn’t want to go home. There was nothing there, not even a pet to take care of. There were houseplants, though many of them died long ago.

 

So Douglas stayed at the pub, watching Jeffries drink and drink and drink. And with each new round, Jeffries shoved a full glass towards him, insisting him. Douglas wasn’t sure when he broke, but he did, and took a swing of that liquid gold for the first time in years.

 

It was heaven.

 

Jefferies, finally able to get Douglas to break down, kept refilling his glass over and over. Douglas wasn’t sure how many he had. He just knew his glass was never empty.

 

At some point, a familiar voice snagged his attention. “Douglas! I thought you didn’t drink!”

 

“Martin!” Douglas said, surprised pronunciation had yet to leave him. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Captain Jefferies called,” Martin said, frowning disapprovingly. “Said I should take you home.”

 

Douglas pouted. He turned away. “Don’t wanna.”

 

“Well, too bad,” Martin turned Douglas around rather forcefully, pulling him to his feet. Surprised by the move, Douglas stumbled a bit. Martin caught his arm, draping it over his own shoulders. “I refuse to allow my First Officer embarrass himself in public like this.”

 

Douglas gave a short protest, but allowed himself to be man-handled right out of the pub. Martin groaned a little under the man’s weight, shifted his footing and kept walking. “Wow,” Douglas said surprised. “You’re strong.”

 

“I move furniture, remember?” Martin grunted. They got to his van and with one hand, Martin pulled opened the passenger door. Douglas climbed in with little problem. When he refused to put on his seat belt, Martin gave a huff, leaned over and clipped him in.

 

Douglas caught a whiff of Martin’s hair. Basic, cheap shampoo. Smelled bitter. Just like Martin, Douglas grinned to himself.

 

The ride to his house was a quiet one. Douglas couldn’t be arsed to think of a conversation topic and Martin seemed content to drive. There was a little grin on Martin’s face though, and it set Douglas’ suspicions on high. The young man was probably enjoying this a little too much.

 

Martin parked in front of Douglas’ house. “Do you need help inside?”

 

Douglas was about to say no, but then thought about all those steps he would have to walk up to. He thought about the quietness, the darkness and how much he hated it.

 

He nodded.

 

Just as a joke to see how strong Martin really was, Douglas kept stumbling intentionally. It was hilarious to watch the younger man strain and grunt and sweat under the weight.

 

By the time they reached the upstairs bedroom, Martin was exhausted. Douglas could feel him trembling with each step.

 

Martin gave a thankful groan as he lowered Douglas onto the bed. He switched on the lamp sitting on the night table. Despite his exhaustion, Martin leaned down to untie Douglas’ shoes and pulled them off.

 

The smell has changed. Suddenly Martin didn’t smell like the one pound shampoo. He smelled like musk and something so very sweet- lotion, Douglas realized. Even the most cheapest of lotions had a smell to it and Martin had chosen something flowery.

 

“Okay,” Martin groaned lightly as he stood back up. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

Douglas reached out and grasped Martin’s wrist.

 

The young man paused. “Is there something else you need?”

 

Douglas pressed his thumb against Martin’s pulse, silently counting the heartbeats.

 

“Douglas, I’m tired,” Martin pulled his arm away. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going home.”

 

He turned to leave.

 

The image of Martin’s back was suddenly too much. Douglas didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want to be alone when Martin was already here, warm, and solid, and thick.

 

Douglas surged to his feet, grabbed Martin by the arm, twirled him around. Douglas meant to push him onto the bed, but the twirling went in a different direction and instead, slammed Martin against the wall, next to the night stand.

 

“Douglas, what-“

 

Douglas kissed him. He held Martin’s face in his hands as he let his tongue slip inside Martin’s mouth, tasting him and teasing him.

 

Martin jerked his face away, pushing Douglas’ heavy frame with a weak shove. “Stop! What the hell are you doing?”

 

What do you _think?_ Douglas wanted to say. He grasped Martin’s chin, forcing his head back up and began kissing him again, a little more enthusiastic this time so he could get the point.

 

Martin _bit_ him.

 

Not enough to break skin, just enough to cause pain and Douglas reared his head back, grunting.

 

“This isn’t funny,” Martin hissed, still trying to shove Douglas away. “Back off! Back-“

 

Douglas didn’t want to be bit again. He grabbed Martin’s shoulders, turned him around sharply, and pressed him against the wall. Douglas moved in, using his own chest against Martin’s back to hold him there, and began giving Martin’s neck sloppy, opened mouth kisses.

 

It was then Martin panicked. His hands flailed, trying to push Douglas off, push himself off the wall. But Douglas was taller, heavier, thrumming with adrenaline while Martin was tired. It was so damn easy to grab Martin’s hands, push them together into his own chest, before Douglas used his weight to keep Martin’s arms sandwiched between his own chest and the wall.

 

Just to be extra cautious, Douglas used his own arm to keep them there, too.

 

“Douglas! Stop, please!”

 

Oh, but Douglas _can’t_ stop. Not when he’s so high on pleasure at the moment. He took a long sniff of Martin’s hair, finding sweat had overcome the smell of the cheap shampoo. It smelled _divine._

Douglas’ hand snaked forward, grabbing at Martin’s crotch. Unfortunately the younger man was wearing rather thick trousers and Douglas could not feel as much as he wished he could. That decision made, he popped the button and pulled down the zipper.

 

“Please! Please, don’t do this!”

 

There was a moment where Martin tried to buck him off by using his hips, but the movement only allowed for Douglas to pull down the trousers easier. They were barely past Martin’s hips, but enough to give Douglas’ hand the room to maneuver.

 

Oh yes, Douglas sighed into the young man’s hair as he found Martin’s limp cock. He’s always wondered what sort of noises his captain made when aroused. Too often Douglas heard Martin squeak in pain or indignity. Can he do more than squeak?

 

As far as Douglas could tell, Martin didn’t masturbate. The man did live in a house full of college kids and spent most of his time either on GERTIE or driving around in that van of his. He probably didn’t have the time.

 

It didn’t take much stimulation to get him hard. At this point, Martin stopped trying to fight, stopped voicing his protests. Instead, he bowed his head, and cried silently.

 

Douglas didn’t like that. Such a mood killer.

 

Douglas took this moment to use his finger and rubbed it over and over and over Martin’s slit. He kept going at it until Martin gave out a short cry, bucking into Douglas’ hand.

 

Perfect. Douglas quickly undid his own trousers and pulled out his erection. He brought up his hand to spit in it, pausing suddenly when he remembered the lube he kept in the nightstand drawer.

 

Since his divorce, Douglas only used the lube less than a handful of times. It was practically brand new, would have checked the expiration date to make sure, but seriously doubted he could read at this point.

 

He popped the top off, and drizzled it over himself. Once done, he leaned forward.

 

Martin jerked when the slightly-cold lubrication was poured on him. He wiggled back to avoid it, accidentally coming into contact with Douglas’ wet prick.

 

He tried to jump back forward, but by then Douglas was done with preparation. He snaked a hand back onto Martin’s dick, then pressed himself against Martin’s backside.

 

The contact of Douglas’ prick with Martin’s warm buttocks was _glorious._ He had to bend his knees to get in better contact, reveling the way the lubricant made everything so nice and slippery.

 

Martin’s own erection had faltered at this point, which Douglas quickly corrected with a few quick strokes.

 

This time, no more teasing. He jerked Martin fast, almost roughly, enjoying the feel of the minute shivers each pump brought.

 

Despite the previous teasing, Martin was unusually quiet during the whole procedure, making it more surprising when he finally orgasm. Douglas had no warning, no sudden intake of air or large shudder. Just a sudden rush of warm semen over his hand. It was almost disappointing.

 

Bracing a hand on Martin’s hip, fingers digging in, Douglas rubbed himself to completion. He had no problem groaning his own pleasure into the crook of Martin’s ear.

 

He pulled back then, releasing Martin’s arms.

 

The young captain didn’t run out. He slowly opened his arms out from their squashed position, almost hissing as he stretched them. He flattened his palms against the wall, keeping his head bowed, breathing harshly.

 

“Why did you do that?” He asked.

 

Because you needed to get _laid,_ Douglas thought as he fell backwards on his bed. From the horrid look on Martin’s face, Douglas realized he said that out loud.

 

“Well, it’s true,” he hissed, draping his arm over his eyes. He was tired. He needed sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Ah, yes, Douglas suddenly remembered one of the reasons why he stopped drinking. Hangovers. Not bad enough to feel the urge to kill himself, but enough for him to want to curl in on himself and pray for mercy.

 

Lord, his mind was pounding. All he wanted was another five hours of sleep. He checked the time and realized he would have to be at the airfield in two hours for today’s flight. He can’t afford to turn over and fall back asleep. Carolyn and Martin would have an aneurysm.

 

Douglas’ eyes flew opened and he sat straight up, gasping.

 

 _Martin._

 

Sitting up that fast was a very bad idea. Nausea hit him like a sledgehammer, churning his stomach so badly Douglas nearly didn’t make it to the loo.

 

It wasn’t the first time he’d been violently sick from a hangover, but this was the first the memories of the previous night left him more sick than the alcohol.

 

Oh God, what had he done?

 

Oh _God._ What had he _done?_

He knew Martin wouldn’t have stuck around in house, though that didn’t stop Douglas’ from stumbling out of the bathroom, checking the space of wall that sat next to the nightstand.

 

The bottle of lube was still sitting out, the top pulled off.

 

Douglas sank to the ground, his legs unable to support him anymore. The replay of last night ran rampant through his mind and the full implication dawned on him. He raped Martin. He grabbed him, slammed him against the wall and-

 

Douglas blinked wildly, tired to push through the fog, trying to remember if he actually penetrated the poor boy or-

 

No. No, thank God, Douglas nearly cried, thankful for that small mercy. He seriously doubted in that drunken state he would’ve had the mental capacity to correctly slip on a condom. Despite that, another layer of guilt draped over him. How sick in the mind was he that he was so grateful _he_ didn’t catch anything from Martin?

 

He didn’t penetrate Martin, thank goodness. The mere thought of hurting his captain like was enough to send him violently ill again.

 

Douglas’ raised his eyes to the still opened bottle of lube. He glanced over to the wall where he-

 

The mess was still there. Splatters of both semen and lube were on the wall, as well as droplets on the floor.

 

Suddenly Douglas was so very sick again and he dragged himself back to the toilet. There wasn’t much to give this time around and Douglas spent a minute just dry heaving.

 

Back when he was in school, Douglas knew a girl who was raped. She said her attacker was the headmaster’s son, and the whole school was nearly up in riots by the accusation. It looked as if the son was going to go jail, but when it was revealed the girl had an orgasm during the rape, people considered it consensual sex and the charges were dropped.

 

The girl was expelled from school and the son went on to graduate.

 

Douglas was an ignorant child then and had taken sides with the boy at the time. But he was older now, there were new studies, and he’d been married three times. He knew what the female body was capable of.

 

Causing pain was one thing, but forcing Martin’s body to do that!

 

Oh God, where was Martin now? He didn’t go to the police or otherwise Douglas would’ve been arrested by now. He can’t be at the airfield already, not even he was that punctual.

 

Could Douglas really count on a rape victim to be in their right mind when it came to work?

 

So where could he be?

 

Home.

 

Douglas forced himself to his feet. He has to see, needed to see if Martin was okay. Douglas could not count accurately on his memory. He might’ve hurt the boy and not remember it. Did he punch him? Bite him? Break any bones?

 

Was Martin prone to any suicidal tendencies?

 

The thought of Martin dead, lying in the bathroom with his wrists cut was too much to bear. Douglas dressed as quickly as possible and dashed out the front door.

 

()

 

Douglas had only driven to Martin’s flat once and it was to drop him off after the ankle incident. Douglas’ didn’t bother to stay around long, embarrassed by his own stupidity and had promised Arthur a free dinner for insulting him. (Longest two hours of Douglas’ life.)

 

His opinion on the flat was the same now as it was then: it was crap.

 

To be in such a house was fine for young people; they were away from their parents and out on their own for the first time. As long as they had roof over their head, a fridge and a tv, most college students would be over the moon.

 

Having nine generations worth of young people trampling through the house has taken its toll. Water damage was evident on the ceiling, holes from picture frames dotted the walls, the carpet smelled like tobacco and there was a strange stain on the front door that has never been removed despite best efforts.

 

Getting access inside was so ridiculously easy, Douglas wondered why this place hadn’t been robbed a hundred times over. Did anybody care a man in his fifties was stomping his way up the stairs? One young lady looked as if she might say something, but found her cornflakes deserved her attention better.

 

Martin lived in the attic. It was small, it was cold. He had the largest space in the whole house, though that wasn’t saying much. It was livable, Douglas supposed. He could not, however, imagine living in such a place for nearly a decade, watching as bright young men and women went off to bigger and better things.

 

Martin already had such a low opinion of himself. He didn’t need constant reminders.

 

Douglas supposed he should’ve asked one of the students living here if they knew Martin was all right. By the time the thought had occurred to him, he was already standing in front of Martin’s door, knocking on it.

 

The door opened and Douglas sucked in a breath.

 

“Douglas!” Martin said. “What are you doing here?”

 

Douglas frowned at his tone. Martin sounded genuinely surprised. “Are you okay?”

 

“Of course I’m okay. Why? What’s going on?”

 

Douglas was at a loss. Did last night really happen? Or was it all some stupid, vivid dream brought on by the alcohol? It wouldn’t be the first time he thought the night went one way, when in reality it went the other. Really, though?

 

Douglas eyed Martin’s casual stance, his mussed hair from sleeping, his concerned, confused face. Nothing gave away the trauma that was- supposedly- inflicted upon him only a few hours ago.

 

Slowly, the weight of guilt began shifting off Douglas’ chest. Fear still sat in his stomach, though. Give it a few hours and maybe once the idea that _nothing happened,_ Douglas could move on.

 

“If there’s nothing,” Martin said, bringing up a hand to yawn in. “I guess I’ll see you at the airfield.”

 

Douglas went deadly still.

 

Martin’s eyebrows pushed together, confused. He then saw what Douglas saw.

 

When Martin brought his hand up to yawn, his long sleeve had shifted just the slightest, revealing the finger-shaped bruises around his wrist.

 

Martin’s eyes dashed upwards, looked at Douglas for a brief second, then tried to slam the door shut.

 

“Wait, Martin, wait,” Douglas pleaded, slapping his hand against the door, stopping it from closing. Martin doesn’t bother giving a fight to keep it closed. He stepped back into his room as Douglas slowly opened the door with a creak.

 

He doesn’t dare step inside.

 

“Just go, Douglas,” Martin said, sitting on his bed, rubbing his arms. “I-I’ll see you at the airfield, okay?”

 

“After what I did to you, you still plan to sit next to me in a confined space for eight hours?”

 

It didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but the absurdity of it! Why would Martin put himself through such a thing?

 

In a softer tone, Douglas asked, “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

 

Martin seemed truly baffled by the question. “What, why?”

 

“Because I don’t remember every detail of last night. And I’m not sure if I… hurt you. From besides the bruises.”

 

The implication of what Douglas said took a few seconds to dawn on Martin. When it did, he turned scarlet. “No!” He protested in a way Douglas knew he wasn’t lying. “No, you didn’t do… _that._ ”

 

“Good. I’m glad.”

 

Uncomfortable silence dawned on the two. Douglas struggled to think of something to say. _I’m sorry I raped you?_ How do you apologize for something like that?

 

Instead, what came out was, “Why didn’t you go to the police?”

 

“Why should I?”

 

Was Martin being deliberately obtuse? “Because of last night.”

 

“Oh,” Martin looked down at the bed. He fingered his blankets. “Last night was… it was an accident.”

 

There were very few things that has ever caused Douglas’ brain to blank. The very first time it happened was when Douglas’ aunt accused him of being a homosexual simply because he liked strawberries. Such an idea was so ridiculous it borderlines on being irrationally stupid.

 

This was one of those times. Douglas could not bring himself to think, and he sputtered like a child. It felt like his mind broke. “An-an _accident?_ You think my raping you was an _accident?_ ”

 

Martin flinched at Douglas’ rising tone. “Lower your voice, there’s other people here-“

 

Douglas couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck about people downstairs. If those fucking morons haven’t noticed their flatmate was in need of help, then fuck them. Douglas was too damn pissed to think past the word ‘accident.’

 

 _“Oh, whoops! I tripped and fell and my penis popped out!_ ” He carried on, his lip curling at the distaste of it all. “In what way, Martin, makes you believe last night was an accident?”

 

If it was possible, Martin turned even redder. “Because, you were drunk-“

 

“That’s no excuse.”

 

“I don’t get it,” Martin said. “I mean, are you trying to get yourself arrested?”

 

That wasn’t a thought the older man let himself dwell on for very long. But if he was going to get Martin some help, he better fess up.

 

“No,” he finally said. “Of course I don’t. Going to jail means I’d lose my job, lose my daughter-“

 

“Then you should shut up,” Martin interrupted. “If you go to jail then it also means _I’m_ out of a job too.”

 

“A job you don’t get paid for!”

 

“It’s a job I enjoy!” Martin blurted out. His voice cracked a little as he gestured to his room. “As you can see, Douglas, I really don’t have much going for me at the moment. Flying is my only pleasure in life and I’m not about to lose it because you… decided I needed to get laid!”

 

Douglas had to close his eyes and fight the rising nausea. He hadn’t remembered saying that until now. What else did he say, what else did he _do?_ Something told him he was never going to get the full story out of Martin, nor was he sure if he wanted to.

 

“What do you want me to do?” He asked the young man.

 

Martin sighed. “Nothing. Don’t bring this up again, I just want to forget about it.”

 

“Do you even realize what you’re asking?” Douglas tried again. This was insane. “You want to pretend like I never assaulted you.”

 

“Yes, Douglas, that’s exactly what I’m asking.”

 

Douglas closed his eyes. He thought about marching out of this stupid house and going to the police and turning himself in. He thought about his daughter, frozen in fear as her mother had to explain to her why daddy wasn’t going to come around anymore. He had to push those thoughts away because he couldn’t just stand there and allow Martin victimize _himself._ How can Douglas look at himself in the eye the next morning, knowing what he did and refused to do something about it?

 

From the stilled silence, Martin tacked on a very small, “Please.”

 

Douglas opened his eyes. He didn’t realize he was crying. “All right,” he said. “Okay.”


	3. Chapter 3

Martin, Douglas found, was a much better actor than he gave himself credit for.

 

During the flight, Martin never wavered, never flinched. There was a moment in which both he and Douglas reached for inter-com button, and their fingers touched. Douglas immediately reared back, snatching his hand away as if burnt.

 

Martin merely paused for a split second, then turned on the inter-com button as if nothing happened.

 

Despite what Martin had said, there was no way in hell could Douglas act like nothing happened. Even when Martin tried, half-heartedly, to start a word game, Douglas gave up before the game was even half-way done.

 

When Martin gave a command, Douglas followed it, no questions. There wasn’t even a condescending tone in Douglas’ voice when he said, “Yes, Captain.”

 

On some level, this annoyed him. If he were to take away the variable of the assault, it would seem like Douglas had transformed into the perfect First Officer, one of which Martin had always wanted. If Douglas didn’t know any better, he would say Martin allowed himself to get assaulted so he could guilt-trip Douglas into obeying.

 

The moment _that_ dark little thought entered Douglas’ head, the man had to excuse himself to go vomit in the loo.

 

“Douglas, what’s the matter?” Arthur said as the older man exited the bathroom ten minutes later.

 

“Nothing, Arthur. Just had a little too much fun last night.”

 

He jerked his head sharply to the side when his brain registered what he just said. He was just trying to avoid the word ‘drink’ and ended up with something worse.

 

Arthur looked distraught. “Douglas-“

 

 _“I’m fine,”_ the older man hissed, pushing him aside. “Leave it be.”

 

“Are you okay?” Martin asked as Douglas reentered the flight deck. “I could hear you retching from all the way up here.”

 

Douglas snapped at him. _“Am I okay? What a stupid question.”_

“God, fuck,” he pulled back immediately. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

 

Martin looked back at the controls, eyes casted down. “I know,” he said quietly.

 

()

 

It eventually got better.

 

It was never really the same, not really, but it was enough to keep Arthur from wringing his hands in worry. Enough to keep that suspicious look off Carolyn. That first week was certainly the worst, the way the two kept stepping on egg shells around each other.

 

That week ended and the façade of normalcy had done its job. By the second week, Martin had engaged Douglas in one of their annual word games and this time, he played it with a little more enthusiasm.

 

By the third week, the bruises healed. Martin had been lucky enough to avoid Arthur’s constant questioning why he refused to lift his sleeves, even though it was hot and he was obviously sweating. He also avoided Douglas’ eyes each time the question was asked in his presence.

 

By the second month, Birling day came and went. And for the first time in years, Douglas did not try to steal the whisky.

 

He should’ve known such a move would be too suspicious not to question.

 

“Close the door.”

 

Douglas didn’t like the tone of voice Carolyn used when she said that. It was her ‘mother’ voice, one she only used for Arthur. Now that the tone was directed at Douglas, it scared the crap out of him. “Is something the matter?”

 

Carolyn put down the writing pen she was using. She stared at him from the top of her golden rim reading glasses. “You tell me,” she said. “Today was Mr. Birling day.”

 

“It was.”

 

“You, Martin, and Arthur all got generous tips, I assumed?”

 

“Nearly eight thousand,” Douglas said smugly, resisting the urge to tap his pocket where the money sat.

 

“So where’s the whisky?"

 

“With Mr. Birling, I assume.”

 

“You didn’t try to steal it this year.”

 

Douglas snapped his fingers. “Darn,” he said with no enthusiasm at all. “It seems I have been outwitted this year.”

 

Carolyn was not amused. “ _Why_ didn’t you try to steal it?”

 

“I got bored of winning all the time.”

 

Slowly, Carolyn took off her glasses. She set them on the desk. “Bull.”

 

“Carolyn-“

 

“What the hell has been going on, Douglas?” She leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms. “Arthur told me he suspects you and Martin had some sort of fight. Not that I care, as long as you fly the plane, but it’s been two months now and even I can tell something is still sticking up your arse.”

 

Douglas had to bite his tongue down as a little swirl of nausea curled deeply in his belly. “It’s nothing you should worry about,” he said finally. When that answer didn’t satisfy her, he added, “I’ve made some poor choices in my life. With my marriages, with my daughter, with my job. I’ve come to realize I’m getting too old to be making such choices, and I’m sick of living with regret. The least I can do is start here, at MJN Air, with Martin. He’s not a little boy and I should start treating him like the captain he is.”

 

Carolyn considered this. “That was a very thoughtful answer.”

 

“Yes, I rather think so.”

 

“Too bad it’s full of shit.”

 

Douglas shook his head. “I don’t have time for this,” he said, turning to leave.

 

“I know something _happened_ between you and Martin,” Carolyn said from behind. “And anybody can see it destroyed a great deal of trust between you two. I can’t have pilots who are suspicious of each other, who are _scared_ of each other.”

 

“What are you trying to say?”

 

“You tell me. Should I be worried for MJN Air’s future, Douglas?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then I have no problem,” Carolyn said, satisfied. “You can leave.”


	4. Chapter 4

He got a call at four in the morning.

 

Douglas first tried to curl up on himself, praying his ringing mobile phone was nothing more than the remnants of a bad dream. The ringing kept going and he groaned.

 

“Damn, damn, damn,” he muttered as he reached over to grab the phone. The springs of the couch gave an unusual sound while he shifted, and Douglas made a mental note to buy a new couch. He flipped his phone opened. _“What?”_

“Is this Douglas Richardson?” Said an Irish voice. There were sounds of men whooping in the background.

 

“Depends,” Douglas yawned, leaning back into his pillow. It was so tempting to go back to sleep, even with the phone in his hand. “What do you want?”

 

“Yeah, I got one of your mates over here at my pub. He’s drunk as a skunk and he refuses to leave. He keeps bothering my other customers.”

 

That sounded like it could be Lenny. He’s a prick, though. Douglas sniffed. “Then why don’t you just throw him out?”

 

“Because I don’t want it coming to that. Look-“ there’s a moment of shuffling on his end like he was readjusting the phone. “I don’t think your friend is a bad bloke. Two hours ago he was wailing about his house or something, and frankly I don’t think I have it in me to throw out a Captain on his arse in this weather.”

 

Captain? “Martin’s over there?”

 

“I didn’t get his name. If your Martin has red hair and won’t shut up about aeroplanes, then it’s him.”

 

No longer sleepy, Douglas cradled the phone in his ear as he hastily shoved on his socks. Why didn’t Martin get the pub owner to call one of his siblings? Or maybe one of the students from his house?

 

Douglas would like to call the whole situation ironic, except it’s not funny and it’s probably best to stay away from such thoughts.

 

“What’s the name and location of your place?”

 

()

 

Douglas didn’t need to carry Martin, but he did need to grab the younger man by the upper arm and forcefully drag him out of the pub. Martin gave gibberish protests and made half-hearted attempts to get back inside. “It’s cold!” He complained as they stepped through the door.

 

“Yes, because it’s December and it’s known to snow during this time of the year,” Douglas huffed, his breath steaming into the cold air. “Why did you come here without a jacket? Do you want to catch cold?”

 

“Because what does it matter?” Martin suddenly blurted out. “If I catch cold and die, will anybody care?”

 

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

 

Martin sneered. “You’re only here because you feel _guilty._ This isn’t friendship, this is-“ he motioned his hand between the two of them hastily. “-this is… well, it’s not friendship!”

 

Douglas wanted to argue that. He had done things for Martin, purely out of the goodness of his heart. He’d given Martin rides when his van wasn’t working properly. He’d occasionally lose a word game on purpose just so Martin could win and gloat once in a while.

 

Douglas kept his mouth shut on that argument. Because even in his head, it sounded petty and pointless. Instead, he said, “You’re drunk. I’m going to take you home so you can sleep this off.”

 

Martin hung his head. “I have no home.”

 

“Sure you do. Granted, it’s home to twenty-“

 

“No, Douglas,” Martin hissed. “ _I have no home._ The house burnt down this morning.”

 

Douglas stiffened. “What?”

 

“One of the kids left a smoking cigarette on the carpet and the whole place went up. My clothes, my books, everything I own is gone. That’s why I’m not wearing a jacket, because my jacket went up in smoke. All I have left is my damn van and fifty quid in my wallet.” He burped. “Well, fifteen now. I spent most of it on booze.”

 

“Martin!” Douglas said as soon as he was done pushing the younger man into his car. They shouldn’t be having this conversation in the snow. “Why didn’t you call someone? One of your siblings?”

 

“Because if I needed reminders about how much I am a _loser,_ I’d look at myself in the mirror.”

 

Oh God, this was definitely not a conversation that should be talked about while drunk. “I’m going to take you to a hotel,” Douglas said, changing the subject entirely. “Tomorrow we’ll pick up your van, and then we’ll sort out what we have to do.”

 

Martin grumbled in his seat.

 

By the time Douglas had pulled up to a moderately priced hotel, Martin was snoring loudly and drooling on the passenger window. He refused to wake up even when Douglas shook him almost violently. “C’mon, Martin,” Douglas hissed as he dragged the younger man out of his car. “I’m too old to carry you like this.”

 

“Unf,” Martin grumbled, his feet stumbling underneath him.

 

Once inside, Douglas dumped Martin onto one of the chairs in the lobby. “Stay here as I make arrangements.”

 

“Unf,” said Martin.

 

“Hello,” Douglas huffed, pulling out his credit card. “One room, please.”

 

The employee at the front desk raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes darting over the credit card, then over Martin’s crumpled form on the chairs. With a drawl, she asked, “Is he consenting to this?”

 

 _Mother_ -

 

“He’s drunk!” Douglas slapped his hand angrily on top of the desk. “He needs a place to stay for the night, that’s it!”

 

The girl didn’t flinch. She turned to her computer and began typing. “Just making sure,” she said dully, swiping the credit card.

 

Douglas wasn’t prone to blushing, but he felt his ears burn. He hated himself for it.

 

“ _His_ room,” the girl drawled, handing over the card key.

 

Without another word he snatched up the key and strode back to Martin. The younger man had fallen asleep again and this time, Douglas was not so gentle in waking him up, and then dragging him down the hall to the elevators.

 

Once they got off on their floor, Martin was a little more awake, though he slumped over in Douglas’ arms like a limp noodle. It was as if walking on two legs was more than he could bear. The only real difficulty in carrying Martin was because of his shortness. Douglas could already feel his back aching from the way he had to hunch to carry the shorter man.

 

It took some careful maneuvering to open the door, but Douglas managed it fine, though he did nearly smash Martin’s head against the door frame.

 

“Hey,” Martin huffed, staring at the frame like it offended him personally. “You almost… hit me.”

 

“Sorry,” Douglas said, not meaning it. He dropped Martin on the bed. “Okay, here you go. We don’t have to fly tomorrow, so try to sleep as much as you can and I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

He hesitated only long enough to watch Martin curl in on himself. He thought about taking the young man’s shoes off, but that felt rather creepy and should probably leave before the front desk lady decided to check in on them.

 

He pulled the door open.

 

Douglas jerked back as Martin came up from behind him, slamming his hand against the door, shutting it.

 

“Martin-!” Douglas gasped, and was suddenly cut off when Martin pressed his lips against his.

 

Douglas shoved him away. “ _What are you doing?”_

“I-I-I…” Martin shook his head. “I don’t know. I thought this… is what you wanted. Taking me to a hotel room, putting me on the bed…”

 

“What? You thought I would be cruel enough to _rape_ you again? Are you insane?”

 

Martin blinked up at him. His eyes were red and puffy. “I-I don’t know…”

 

Douglas felt himself shaking. Not from disgust, from _anger._ He didn't know why, and it took nearly every ounce of willpower to keep himself from punching Martin across the face. “Go to sleep, Martin," Douglas forced himself to say. He gently pushed Martin away towards the bed. "I’ll talk to you in the morning.” __


	5. Chapter 5

Douglas made a decision, one he should’ve made a long time ago. He doesn’t know what to do with Martin’s living arrangements, except maybe calling his siblings for help. He doesn’t do that, but he knew he couldn’t keep Martin in a hotel room for the rest of his days. Even if the poor Captain got paid, he’ll go through his savings within weeks, if not days.

 

Douglas doesn’t make any phone calls toMartin’s siblings, wanting to allow at least _one_ option left up to him. Douglas then spent the rest of night researching, and in the morning, called Carolyn that neither he nor Martin could fly that next day.

 

She doesn’t take it well.

 

Most of the conversation had Carolyn screaming at him, and Douglas trying to get a word in edgewise.

 

“Carolyn! Would you just _listen to me?_ ” Douglas nearly yelled into the phone. He had never screamed at Carolyn before and he certainly didn’t want to be starting now. “Martin’s house burned down.”

 

There was a moment of silence on the other end. “Is he alright?”

 

“He’s fine. Homeless at the moment, but fine. Look, Carolyn, I have a lot more details to talk with you over with, but I’m going to meet up with Martin in another hour.”

 

“Details? About what?”

 

Douglas sighed. He knew he was going to do this eventually, long before the rape, but it felt like he was doing it out of obligation rather than the right thing to do. “I want you to give Martin half of what I earn.”

 

A gasp. “Douglas! Is this a joke?”

 

“No joke, I am serious. Look, I need to go. I’ll call you later.” He hung up on her.

 

He made a quick detour to the hotel to grab coffee and pastries. Douglas had learned Martin was easier to get along with when his stomach was full and the conversation Douglas was planning on having needed Martin’s full attention.

 

He knocked on Martin’s door. “Martin, are you awake?”

 

When Douglas received no reply, he put the bag of pastries in between his teeth and reached back to take out the electronic key from his back pocket. Just as he opened the door, Martin walked out of the bathroom.

 

He was patting down his face like he had just finished shaving. He hadn’t combed his hair yet and it stuck up in different directions with its natural curl. His eyes were unusually red, like he had been crying. Douglas decided not to comment on that. “Breakfast,” he said, indicating to the bag and coffee. “Are you hungry?”

 

“Not particularly,” Martin said, his voice rough. Definitely was crying.

 

“At least have some coffee,” Douglas indicated to Martin to sit down at the table near the window. “It’ll help with that hangover.”

 

Martin’s face scrunched up. “Douglas, I am so, so sorry-“

 

“ _Stop._ Nothing happened last night.”

 

“I-I pushed you against the wall. I _kissed_ you-“

 

“Martin, shut up and sit down before you fall over.”

 

Martin hesitated for a second, wringing the towel in his hands, unsure what to do. He then tossed the towel onto the bed and crossed the room, making it very obvious he was keeping his distance from Douglas, taking a seat and then angling his body away from him.

 

“Here,” Douglas pushed the coffee towards him and the bag of pastries. He then pulled a pamphlet out of his coat pocket, slapping it on the table in front of Martin. “Eat while you read this.”

 

Martin doesn’t bother with the food. Instead, he picked up the pamphlet, read it, then frowned. He looked up at Douglas. “Rape therapy?”

 

Douglas flopped down in the chair across from him. “For both you and me.”

 

“Douglas-“

 

“I should’ve done this in the beginning,” the older man interrupted. He had not realized till last night of the large weight sitting in his chest. Douglas had not slept in his own room since he assaulted Martin. He could barely look at the wall without feeling like he was just kicked in the groin. And if this was how _he_ felt, he couldn’t imagine how Martin was dealing. “We tried to ignore it, tried to pretend what we have between us wasn’t there. Well, I was _wrong,_ Martin. _I raped you._ I should’ve done the right thing and turn myself in, get you some help, but I was a coward and a fool. A part of me was _glad_ you made the decision not to tell. You were the victim and the whole time I kept thinking about myself. About me, my reputation, my safety.”

 

Martin gaped at him. “You apologized for it,” he said confused. “You didn’t mean it, and I know you didn’t-“

 

“ _That doesn’t matter,”_ Douglas hissed out. “It doesn’t change the fact that I _hurt you._ And neither of us are going to be able to move forward until we acknowledge what happened. This is not something we can put a bandage over. We need to get some real help.”

 

They don’t speak much after that. Martin doesn’t read the pamphlet, not really, idly flipping it over and over while Douglas distributed the pastries between them.

 

The room is quiet except for the sounds of traffic coming from outside, far below the window to see.

 

()

 

They both go to therapy once a week for the next two months.

 

Douglas thought it would be best if Martin went alone, went without his _rapist,_ but the younger man insisted. Wishing he was there with a friend than with a bunch of strangers.

 

Douglas was not sure what that said about the both of them.

 

With his sudden downgrade in pay, the very first thing Douglas did to keep himself from swimming into debt was selling his house. It was for the best, really. Keeping such a huge home with no one but himself to live in it was silly. Near the end he could barely stand to look at it and was glad when he finally moved out.

 

Martin kept his van job because half a Captain’s wage still wasn’t enough to pay for a new flat, clothes, and everything else that was taken by the fire. It would be months more still until he could balance the pay equally and finally indulge in something more than pasta and potatoes.

 

When that day finally came, Martin announced he was going to buy himself a pizza.

 

He and Douglas never really talked about it, not outside the therapy sessions, though both of them knew it was there, thrumming silently under every word game they had. It was there every time Carolyn forced them to share a room due to her cheap ways. It was there every time Arthur pulled them close for a group photo.

 

It would take some time, they were told, before the day comes in which neither of them will think of that night. It will either come as a shock or they won’t even notice it. The point was to consider it as a step moving forward, and try not looking back.

 

“Exterior checks completed, Captain.”

 

“Thank you, Douglas.”

 

Today was not that day. But Douglas was a patient man.

 

He can wait.


End file.
